


The Seamstress

by Mega_Erofan



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Horror, Mental Illness, Serial Killer, ish, mental illness through a child's mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2442965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mega_Erofan/pseuds/Mega_Erofan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Serial killers usually have a motive or reasoning behind their killing sprees, whether it be mental illness, a coping mechanism to deal with past abuse, or simply for the fun of killing people and getting away with it. For some serial killers however, the true motive is not so clear and their reasoning can only be described as “mindless reacting” which is true in the case of Annabell, a 15-year-old girl who understands she is a criminal but accepts it as part of herself even if she hates herself for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Seamstress

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Creepypasta. It's not creepy per say but the character is a Creepypasta character I hope to work with in the future. This is more of a character study of the character, Annabell Silvanus.

The dingy warehouse is the only home she is ever known for the past four years, it is the best she could do for her current circumstances and her...hobby, as she calls it. She does not like using the actual term for the activity she partakes in on what seems to be a bi-monthly basis. Actually, there were several individual names for the things she did in order to quell the little bit of her that makes her do these things against her will to innocent people. She never wishes to fight against It lest It get a hold of someone she truly cares about and does to them what It has made her do to many strangers already. She has seen what It can do to those she does not even know, she fears what It could do to someone she cares for.

She cannot remember when this...thing first took up residence in her. Maybe it was during the childhood she could barely recall except in painful fragments, maybe it was from the first of her many times doing this, or maybe it was just born in her and only became stronger in her later years as it grew strong in its dormant state. Whatever the case, this thing that clawed at the walls of its cage was not a part of her she let many people know about and even fewer know of the desires of It. Hell, even her closest friend barely knew about this monster she had locked up inside of her, quietly searching for its next victim before tearing at the bars, demanding she hunt its chosen target down and do unto him what It has already made her do onto the several men before him. She always obeyed It as she feared what would happen if she angered this monster, if It was able to break out of the cage she had kept it in for many years and hurt her the same way it has hurt others..

Even now, as she prepares the array of tools before her, the evil inside of her shakes at the bars on the cage deep inside her chest, demanding she finish what she started. She always has to anyway, the last thing she needed is trouble from a soul she barely knew. After preparing the last of the instruments on the table, she turns to the larger table behind her, looking up into the terrified eyes of the man tied down to it and silenced by a bit gag. She feels sorry for him but she cannot simply let his free, not after he has seen her...hobby shop, which is more like a slaughterhouse in her eyes. The secret has to be kept, lest she be found by The Monster lurking in the streets as it hunts her down in her dreams. She has to do this. She picks up one of the implements on the table behind her, a large pair of sharp, silver shears, then approaches the men and begins cutting away the suit he is wearing.

“It is always men.” She notes in the back of her mind as she cuts open one of the navy blue sleeves. “It always picks a man as a target, some busybody with a dark secret that I never seem to know about until I have them in my workshop, as if airing their sins to me will save their lives but they are sadly mistaken. It never wants me to spare them. It wants me to make them suffer for their sin, to make them endure every bit of pain they gave to someone else before this night, to have them watch as I craft them into an image better suited for them, a macabre display of their past misdeeds for the whole world to see. That was always my secret talent. I could sit down and create the perfect design to fit the man sitting on this slab before me and he will never look like any of the other ones. No one man is the same in general but I make sure they never truly are alike after leaving my workshop. Most people would call it sadistic murder but It calls it a...creative release. Something to keep my mind off the “bad days”, as It calls them, and to help me fall asleep at night without any nightmares about The Monster. While it does help me to sleep and it does allow me the freedom to create such stellar designs, I would not disagree with the world's view on it as a form of sadism. I know what I am is wrong but I have to obey, or else I risk It getting out of control and hurting people that never deserved to be hurt in the first place.”

As she finishes cutting the suit jacket and dress shirt off the man, she notices a large scar on the man's chest and lightly runs her fingers along its jagged edge, causing the man to shudder fearfully under her touch. She then touches her own face, her fingers finding the top of the defiant scar just above her left eye and following it over her amber eye and down her cheek, acknowledging the sharp turn near her cheekbone as the scar descends towards her mouth then sharply turns again to run straight to her chin, just an inch or so away from the corner of her dark, pursed lips and stand out from her fair skin. She knows the path of this blemish on her face too well, having run her finger along it many times in the nights before her workshop was established that she could draw the shape of the scar in her own mind. She never likes to think about it too much though as it causes her much anxiety in public, so much that she has fled to her home several times because of it. But here, in the safety of her vacant warehouse, her mind is free to wander to the pale line. She barely recalls how she first received the mark but she knows who she got it from-The Monster. The memory of the day itself is fuzzy to her but she can recall parts of it clear enough to understand how it came to be.

She denied him something, what it was even she could not have her wildest guess at it but her refusal angered The Monster, and he hit her with something, something hard that broke over her head and cut her just above her eye. He stared at her for a few minutes before carving the rest of what would become a permanent disfigurement as she struggled against him, resulting in the two sharp turns of the line. The only sentence she remembered from the whole encounter still chilled her to her core today though she knew not what he meant.

“Now you'll only be beautiful to me, little bell.”

She sighs under her breath as she continues to the man's pants, trying to ignore the man's muffled ranting as she does. She has heard the same pleas for mercy multiple times but she has learned to block them out. She focus is important so that she will not accidentally cut the man with the shears like she did with the first man she ever did this to.

She recalled the first man quite well as she was extremely nervous about the entire situation. It picked out a young but wealthy charmer, the heir to a large business set up in the city. He was not bad-looking either, sharply dressed with combed, strawberry blonde hair and the warmest brown eyes she had ever seen. It wanted him for some specific reason and, despite her pleas against it, eventually had him caught, drugged, and brought back to their home. Being her first time, the work was a bit sloppy. She cut him several times with the shears because she was be distracted by his pleas most of the time. It was also the first time It became vocal somewhere other than in her head, yelling at the man to be quiet before spouting some of the unpleasant things It would do to him if he did not shut up. Though she only heard her own voice speak such malice words, the presence of It's anger was ever present and frightened her deeply. Knowing It was able to gain control of her whenever It pleased, she did not want to challenge what It would do if she ever disobeyed, most likely something extremely unpleasant for her but that It would enjoying inflicting upon her even if it meant hurting itself as well.

She finishes and sets the shears down then walks to the drawing table set up at the foot of the slab the man is lying on. She turns on the small desk lamp, revealing a large sketch pad with several pencils of varying length and condition along with small sketches of what could only be determined as her previous works. The pictures are of different men of varying body types, each looking like the rough draft of some kind of twisted doll. Patches of skin replaced with another material and descriptions beside certain parts of the picture in an indecipherable handwriting. Only a handful of words on each page can be made out: under-stitch collars and cuffs, flatlock seams for jackets, and various other bits involving certain stitches and sewing techniques. She plucks the longer of the pencils from the table and begins to sketch out the body of the man lying before her, glancing up occasionally to determine if any of her lines goes too far askew to fit the man's physique.

She always had a talent for drawing people even when she was young. She recalled being able to look at a person's face once and being able to draw out a few of the details using the tools she had on hand. Her drawings were one of her ways to make The Monster happy while she was in his possession. He appreciated her ability to memorize faces that he hardly gave notice to on the streets and even kept some of them himself. The days she produced the most amazing of drawings were days she could clearly recall, mostly because The Monster would leave her be and the fog that always lingered when he loomed over her never appeared. She was curious at what happened at those times where the fog would come in and cause her stomach to hurt but It told her many times not to linger on those thoughts. It seemed to know everything about her past but never told her, as if protecting her from something. That seemed to be the only part about It that seemed nice to her, It cared enough about her to not tell her of the “bad days”. She asked It once why it never told her about the days before she lived in the streets. It simply stated that it wished not to cause her more pain now than that which she endured back then. According to It, it was a blessing that she did not to remember any of what happened, explaining that she was blocking out those days because of what happened to her. Despite her appreciation for It's care, part of her always wanted to know about the “bad days” and why her mind intentionally blocked them out.

She shrugs and returns to her drawing, finishing the sketch of the body then continuing by using the variety of colored pencils hidden in one of the drawers of the drawing table to color certain parts of the body then labeling them with strange names. Sunrise, tie-dye, cerulean galaxy, a number of names seeming to describe the colors she is blending at certain parts. She then roughly sketches an outfit of some kind on the body sketch, not coloring in as she labels each part with the name of an article of clothing of varying material. Nearly three hours after she starts, she comes away from the drawing table and goes to a door sealed shut by a rustic-looking padlock. She pulls out a small, silver key and unlocks the lock. She slips into the room, which is filled with shelf upon shelf of fabrics of a variety of colors, materials, sizes, patterns, and even textures, all on huge rolls or in baskets with labels of specific colors and materials on the shelves they sit on. She quickly browses through the selection, pulling rolls and baskets down that match the colors used in her sketch, then exits the room to deposit the materials onto the work table where the rest of her tools are resting.

She turns and walks to the man on the table, puling out a tape measure from her pocket, like the kind a clothing designer uses to measure models in order to design clothing fit just for the model in store. Her amber meet the fearful gaze of the man's dark brown, pleading for her to set him free. She smiles innocently and says “Relax, I just need a few measurements before I start with you. It'll take a few days to finish you but you don't have anything to worry about until tomorrow night. Just don't struggle, okay?” She then coyly begins measuring out certain parts of the man's body, the space between his ankle and knee, the width of his chest, the length from his fingertip to his jugular, and various other odd spots before she rolls up the tape.

“Alright, all done.” She chirps, brushing her messy bangs from her face, her amber eyes shimmering in the lights of the warehouse. “I'll just write these numbers down real quick and I can begin to cut the fabrics tomorrow morning.” She turns and walks to the table, pulls out a worn notepad from under the work table and writes down the measurements.

She is not proud of what she is but she could be in a much worse situation without her lifestyle. Her “hobby” did pay for itself as she used the credit cards of her victims to empty bank accounts to help her keep some money for supplies and necessities between victims but she always knew it was wrong to do these things. It may call it a creative release but she knows what she is truly doing, she is butchering men to deliver a message to the population of the city. There are better ways to deliver the same message to the same effect but this just seemed...right. She will never admit that she gets a small high from the adrenaline of the situation, from catching these men and bringing them back to preform her dark deeds, from cutting them up and putting them back together in what she sees as their true form, placing them in special locations in order to have them be seen by all and have her work be appreciated by others. Something about he entire thing is a bit of a turn-on for her and she feels guilty about it, but what can she do about it? This is the way she is and it is the way she will always be. People have many names for monsters like her but she prefers the name the newspapers have given her as it is so fitting for what she does and has more of a ring to it than murderer or psychopath...The Seamstress.

 

 


End file.
